Category: Mystery

From New York Times Bestselling Author, S.L. SCOTT, comes
this new and utterly captivating series, The Kingwood Series. With memorable
characters and an unforgettable story, you will want to be a part of this new
series launch.

Welcome to
the mysterious world of the rich and the damned in this gritty, modern day
fairy tale. Two star-crossed lovers will either find their destiny or meet
their fate in a world where demons come in the form of familiar faces and pawns
aren’t just players, but deadly.

She was my destiny.

I was her downfall.

We were a match made in hell.

But when we were together, that hell was pure
heaven.

The moment I laid eyes on her, I knew she would
pay the price for my sins. I wasn’t much older than she was, but old enough to
know better. Old enough to know she would be good for me and I was bad for her.
But I pursued her anyway. Back then I had hope that maybe she could change my
future.

Living in the capital of Texas with her family, Scott loves traveling and avocados, beaches, and cooking with her kids. She’s obsessed with epic romances and loves a good plot twist. Her favorite color is blue, but she likens it more toward the sky than the emotion. Her home is filled with the welcoming symbol of the pineapple and finds surfing a challenge though she likes to think she’s a pro.

Recommended for mature readers due to strong language and graphic violence.

Rayne Kilpatrick has everything. A job she’s dreamed of since a little girl. The perfect house. And a man she loves and is about to marry… Until he never returns from a humanitarian mission.

Gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

When footage of his gruesome murder by a Muslim extremist group is shown across the country and around the globe, she wants the person responsible for the disappearance of the man she loves to pay. She wants him to lose the one person who means the world to him, too, and she won’t stop until he does.

Alexander Burnham has everything… Finally. A job he enjoys where he can actually make a difference in the world. The perfect woman who he’s loved his entire life. And the most beautiful daughter a father could ask for… Until he walks into her bedroom one morning to find it empty.

Gone. Disappeared. Vanished.

It’s a race against the clock for Alexander to put the pieces together and find out who has taken his daughter and what they want from him. As information comes to light, he is forced to bury the guilt he feels after losing his fellow team member and focus instead on finding and saving his daughter…

Before it’s too late.

Vanished can be read in conjunction with or separate from the Beautiful Mess series.

This was no longer home to a fearless girl who had more love for Olivia than she deserved. This would now become a place of nightmares for her daughter. Would she ever be able to sleep in this room again? Would she ever want to sleep alone? Would she ever feel safe?

Olivia struggled to come to terms with what Melanie’s life would be like if she survived this. She hadn’t done anything to deserve this. Alexander wasn’t without his faults, and neither was Olivia, but Melanie was so young, so pure, so innocent. Now, at far too young an age, she would be jaded by the cruelties of the world.

Would she ever see her smile again?

Would she ever hear her carefree laugh?

Would she ever feel her unconditional love as she flung her arms around her?

Bleakness invaded Olivia right down to her core as she fell onto Melanie’s unmade bed. Sheets that were once warm from her presence had grown cold, and Olivia could no longer keep it in. She wasn’t just watching a made-for-TV movie about a successful, semi-famous family losing their daughter. She was living the nightmare. wishing with everything she had that this would all be over soon, that it wasn’t real.

“Wake up!” Olivia screamed, slapping her face as relentless tears streamed down her cheeks. She curled into a ball, the torment growing inside her becoming unbearable. It felt like someone was ripping her open with sadistic apathy, the pace languid and sluggish, taking pleasure from each strained breath she struggled to capture. Her skin prickled with the heat of a thousand branding irons. No matter how loud she screamed, it wouldn’t dull the pain.

“Wake up, Olivia!” she bellowed again, louder and more desperate. Nothing worked. No matter what she did, no matter how loud her cries, nothing would wake her from this nightmare.

Sobs wracked through her body as she fought for air. She tried to gain control over her body and tears, but it was useless. She was no longer in command of her own destiny. Even the seemingly innate task of inhaling and exhaling had become arduous and complicated. Melanie was her lifeline, her reason for living. Without her, Olivia’s heart gave out, her lungs refused to work, her body shut down.

Suddenly, a pair of familiar, strong arms cradled her, lifting her off the torturous bed, cocooning her in a shelter only they could provide. They comforted her sobs, giving her exactly what she needed. She cried into her husband’s chest, a hundred tears falling for every regret. No words were spoken. Lowering himself to the floor, he simply held her in his lap, wiping her tears, providing her with warmth in this cold, hateful world.

She didn’t know how many minutes ticked by as he remained there, silently assuring her with his presence that they would get through this, that everything would work out. Still, she knew they would never be the same. This had shaken their family to its core. There was no returning to the way things were before.

Olivia cried harder.

She cried for all the time she should have spent with her daughter instead of working tirelessly for one charity or another. She cried for all the times she told her no when she should have said yes. Yes, we can have pancakes for dinner. Yes, we can go feed the ducks at the pond. Yes, we can make Christmas cookies in July.

Exhaustion set in as her cries subsided and she closed her eyes. The last thing she saw before drifting off was Melanie standing alone in a dark room, a blank expression on her pale face.

T.K. Leigh, otherwise known as Tracy Leigh Kellam, is a USA Today Bestselling author of the Beautiful Mess series, in addition to several other works. Originally from New England, she now resides in sunny Southern California with her husband, dog, and three cats, all of which she has rescued (including the husband). In late 2015, she gave birth to her first (and only) baby. When she’s not planted in front of her computer, writing away, she can be found training for her next marathon (of which she has run over fifteen fulls and far too many halfs to recall) or chasing her daughter around the house.

T.K. Leigh is represented by Jane Dystel of Dystel & Goderich Literary Management. All publishing inquiries, including audio, foreign, and film rights, should be directed to her.

March 24. Billionaire Lyndon Surway takes off in his private plane and never returns.

His will leaves the entirety of his wealth—one of the largest fortunes in history—to his “dear friend Lucian Baker.” Only there is no trace of anyone by that name. And the fortune itself is nowhere to be found.

Andrew Day knows nothing of wealth and privilege, but he won a scholarship to study at the most exclusive school in the country, in the town where the mystery, decades later, remains unsolved. There he discovers friendship and danger with the aristocratic Cameron and the beautiful Olivia. But watchful eyes follow him everywhere… Until, one night, he comes across a secret that will change his life. As he begins to unravel what really happened to the Surway fortune, the question remains: who is Lucian Baker?

Winner: Northern California Book Festival, Best Young Adult Book, 2016

At nine o’clock yesterday morning, following ninety days of fruitless searching, billionaire industrialist and businessman Lyndon Surway was officially pronounced dead. Mr. Surway was last seen by members of his staff departing from the main airplane hangar of his estate a few minutes past eight in the morning, flying alone aboard one of his aircraft. His last recorded words to the command center crew of his hangar were: “Clear skies and mild winds. Perfect visibility, or as perfect as I could hope, for as long as I can tell. Gentlemen, I wish you a thorough enjoyment of this fine day.” Nothing unusual was noted in his language or behavior.

The late Mr. Surway often took his plane out with no stated destination. But this time, he failed to return at the customary hour of six in the evening. As no word had been received from him, the kitchens were advised that he would likely dine outside. At ten o’clock on the following morning, when there was still no news of Mr. Surway or his aircraft, the Steward of the House alerted the municipal, state, and federal authorities, and a search began for the missing magnate. But no airport, hotel, hospital or inn within fuel’s range of the estate could provide any information. Dozens of interviews bore no result. Countless journalists and detectives rushed in from every corner of the country, but none of them could unearth a single clue regarding Mr. Surway’s whereabouts. Not even the Steward could guess where Mr. Surway had gone. On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Surway had only told him: “My day is free and so am I.”

Fifteen infantry troops were dispatched, with over a hundred hound dogs, across more than two hundred miles of hills and valleys surrounding the town of Spring Forge, where Mr. Surway lived. The infantry and the dogs found nothing. The Air Force then loaned eighteen jet-powered aircraft to continue the search. The Navy joined the effort with five ships, sixteen helicopters, and four submarines to scour the coastal regions, islands, and ocean floor within flying range of the Eastern Seaboard. Again nothing was found. Finally then, a large-scale search was conducted through the grounds and the buildings of Surway House itself, led by seven hundred volunteers from Spring Forge and other towns throughout the valley. Still they found nothing. Yesterday marked three months since Mr. Surway’s disappearance. The aircraft was legally declared lost, and its owner deceased. Mr. Surway, estimated for each of the past twelve years to be the wealthiest man in the Western Hemisphere, leaves behind no known relatives.

Author Bio:

Teymour Shahabi was born in Paris in 1985 of Persian parents. He moved to the United States to study Comparative Literature and Mathematics at Harvard University. He lives in New York City where he’s spent the last few years among serious professionals, many of whom probably prefer to read nonfiction. The Secret Billionaire is his first published book.

You can watch (and help) him try to figure out writing and life at www.facebook.com/teymour.shahabi.

Who or what is responsible for the gruesome deaths of members of the secret society known as the Order of Osiris?

Dr. Armiston, an irascible, confirmed bachelor who believes in medicine not mysticism, is certain the deaths are only tragic accidents.

The members of the Order of Osiris suspect something more sinister is at work. They profess to believe an ancient curse has been visited upon their society. Handsome and mysterious Captain Maxwell requests Armiston’s help.

Tarot cards? Egyptology? Spiritualism? Armiston has little patience with the superficial and silly pastimes of the rich, but he does love a good puzzle. Or could it be that he is more drawn to young Captain Maxwell than he wishes to admit?

Either way, Armiston must solve the secret of the cursed sarcophagus very soon, for Captain Maxwell is the next slated to die…

I found the place in a quiet back street some three minutes’ walk east from Piccadilly Circus. A gilded sign in the shape of a banyan leaf hung over first-floor windows.

The Banyan was not a club, but an eating-house, with rather a special clientele. It was run by a retired quartermaster, who somehow made his little pile in India. The man spoke Persian and Burmese and worked the house with Indian servants. He catered to Anglo-Indian tastes. It was the first place I was given a spoon for my curry.

According to Maxwell, men had been known to come home cursing India and all its ways—and yet turn up at the Banyan within a month. He said he went there principally to keep up his Indian vocabulary, but the fowl-curry, the chutney, and the fruit were all excellent and well worth the visit.

Though Maxwell was not a sophisticated raconteur like Maundeville, he was good company and sincerely charming. In fact, he was disconcertingly attentive. It was quite a heady thing to have his complete and unadulterated concentration. I could see no reason for it.

“How did you happen to become a physician?” he asked curiously as I finished a long, involved story that even I could see no point to.

“My father was a doctor,” I said. “One of those good old-fashioned country doctors who shepherded his flock in and out of this life for nearly the length of his own. He was greatly loved by everyone who knew him, and I thought that would be a wonderful thing. To be able to take away pain and suffering. And to be greatly loved.”

It was the truth, but it was more than I had meant to say.

“It is a wonderful thing to be able to take away pain and suffering,” Maxwell said after a moment.

“Yes. What I failed to understand was how difficult it would be when, no matter how hard you try, you can’t manage it. Or when your best effort fails to save a life. It’s a dreadful thing to have a child die in your arms.”

Maxwell’s somber expression no doubt matched my own. I said hastily, “Happily, most of my practice amounts to lancing boils and handing out headache powders.”

He laughed. “I doubt it.”

“Oh, it’s quite true. I’m not complaining. The grand career I imagined for myself would have been contrary to my own nature. I like a quiet, comfortable life.”

It was not easy—in fact, it was impossible—to get him to speak of himself. Nor did he broach the subject that had inspired this tête-à-tête until at length we settled in a quiet corner of the smoking-room.

“Now,” he said with a sort of grim cheerfulness, “we’re fortified and steadied by an excellent dinner. We shall take a common-sense view of the matter before us.”

“The matter before us?”

“Your continuing involvement in this case.”

“I’m…not sure I follow.”

“It’s quite simple. To begin with we have poor Scrymgeour and D’Aurelle. Both died suddenly, and apparently alone. You knew neither of them, but you certified one death and countenanced the certifying of the other although I believe you thought both those deaths were suspicious.”

I stared at him, unable to believe my ears.

“I believe you feel you’re partly responsible—since you certified those deaths—for the fact that there has been no further inquiry. I think, too, that you joined the Society of Osiris because of those deaths, and that you have those certificates on your conscience.”

“What the devil are you talking about?” I exclaimed. “I certified what I believed to be true.”

“Would you sign them now?” he retorted. “I know you acted honestly at the time.”

“Of what exactly are you accusing me?” I asked very coldly, very quietly.

I said, “My involvement is simply one of academic interest. You and your friend have presented me with a mystery, and I mean to solve it. That is all.”

He nodded as though satisfied, though his expression remained uncharacteristically austere. I thought his eyes held an unnatural glitter, and I prepared myself for more unpleasantness. Even so, his next words were startling.

“In thinking over those two deaths, we must consider points of difference and of similarity. Both these poor fellows were bachelors, and both had independent means.”

“You believe their deaths are connected by something other than the Mummy?”

“I do. Perhaps you don’t know where their property went?”

“Well?”

“Miss Hennessey.”

I think I gaped at him. Not at the information itself, but the fact he had essentially accused the poor girl of murder.

I said as much, though I tried to keep my tone neutral. “Then you suspect Miss Hennessey of somehow engineering their deaths?”

It was Maxwell’s turn to look astonished. “Nora? Of course not. I bring up the matter only because you’re a bachelor too, though not so well provided as they were with this world’s goods. You’re an older man also.”

I laughed. He was rude and ridiculous, but I don’t suppose he realized that—or cared. “True on all counts, I’m afraid. Furthermore, I’m an observer, not a participant in this little misadventure of yours. So if your concern is for my safety, you may rest easy. I don’t believe either Miss Hennessey or the Mummy are after me.”

“I think you should retire from the case, all the same.”

I stared. He appeared to be quite serious.

“What’s brought about this change of heart?” I inquired. “You weren’t concerned for my safety five days ago.”

“Five days ago you weren’t taking tea with Miss Hennessey or having dinner with Maundeville. I—we—didn’t then appreciate the fact that there might be risk to you.” His throat jumped as he swallowed. He looked genuinely worried. “Enough people have died, Armiston. I wouldn’t like something to happen to you on our account.”

“You and Perceval have decided this between you?”

“Er…yes.” It was such an obvious lie, I almost laughed. I was too offended to find the situation humorous, however.

“I see.”

“It’s not that we’re unappreciative.”

“No. You’ve expressed your appreciation most originally.”

His brows drew together. “We should never have dragged you into this matter. That’s the truth.”

“Possibly not. But you did—I won’t say dragged me because I joined the expedition willingly enough—invite me, and there’s no going back now.”

“Of course there is.”

I shook my head. “I told you both before that I did not need your permission to continue my investigations. Such as they are.”

I was so surprised he knew my Christian name it took me a moment to collect my thoughts. “Shall I tell you what I think this is?”

“I’m telling you what it is!”

I shook my head. “I believe you’ve recently learned the cards are about to be drawn again. I believe you’re convinced that this time you’ll receive the Priestess. And I believe that you’re afraid that because of my…” I didn’t quite know how to phrase it without making matters more awkward than they were. I settled on, “…respect for you, I may act rashly and come to harm.”

Even in the muted light I could see he flushed and then paled. “I don’t think any such thing.”

“I hope not. I hope you don’t think I’m such a fool.”

“I don’t. Of course I don’t.” He looked stricken.

“However great my…respect for you, I’m not a man prone to rash or incautious action. I’m not the dashing hero of a romance novel. Frankly, you would be better suited to such a role than I.”

He opened his mouth, closed it, and swallowed. “I wasn’t suggesting—”

“Let’s consider the matter closed. You’ve said what you needed to say, and I’ve given you my answer.”

“Very well,” he said stiffly.

Shortly after, Maxwell and I parted. I think he couldn’t escape fast enough.

Author Bio

Bestselling author of over sixty titles of classic Male/Male fiction featuring twisty mystery, kickass adventure and unapologetic man-on-man romance, JOSH LANYON has been called “arguably the single most influential voice in m/m romance today.”

Her work has been translated into nine languages. The FBI thriller Fair Game was the first male/male title to be published by Harlequin Mondadori, the largest romance publisher in Italy. Stranger on the Shore (Harper Collins Italia) was the first M/M title to be published in print. The Adrien English series was awarded the 2nd Annual All Time Favorite Male Male Couple by the Goodreads M/M Group. Josh is an Eppie Award winner, a four-time Lambda Literary Award finalist for Gay Mystery, and the first ever recipient of the Goodreads Favorite M/M Author Lifetime Achievement award.

About the Book

Title: The Granite Moth

Author: Erica Wright

Genre: Mystery

It begins with a bang: Kathleen Stone is watching her friend Dolly and his fellow drag queens perform at the Halloween Parade when their float explodes. Suspecting sabotage, the club’s owner hires Kat to find the culprit. But Kat hasn’t given up on bringing gangster Salvatore Magrelli to justice and finds herself pulled between identities. While navigating both the grit and glamour of New York City, she realizes that sometimes love and hate can be hard to tell apart.

EXCERPT
Skeletons rattled their way up Sixth Avenue, spreading their green glow over the crowd. Puppeteers on roller skates navigated larger-than-human dummies to the delight of families and college kids alike. The next float seemed to be a pirate ship, if pirate ships came in pink and ghosts came in iridescent thongs. The annual Halloween parade was one of the few times when I felt at home, disguised among countless others disguised. That night I had donned a cheap but bedazzled mask with jeans, and I was feeling underdressed but unexposed. I was wedged between a Batman father taking turns hoisting twin girls onto his shoulders and a twenty-something woman dressed like a sexy raccoon. All had their arms outstretched as a man in an eyepatch and little else tossed bubblegum into the air. A few pieces landed at my sneakers, and I kicked them away.

The mass of people made the New York Police Department nervous, but they weren’t my responsibility anymore. It had been three years since I’d turned in my badge to the surprise of exactly no one. If I glanced behind me, I was sure to see two or three mounted cops, hands patting their horses’ necks to soothe them. I kept my eyes forward, trusting my source to find me under the 10th Street sign because it was my only choice. Optionless has never been my favorite date, but sometimes you have to make do. I had arrived two hours before the start of the event to make sure I could snag this prime viewing location, and part of me felt guilty about keeping a real enthusiast from seeing the elaborate homemade creations that kicked off the party night on a gleeful note.

An authentic-looking Marilyn Monroe blew kisses from the top of a birthday cake, complete with forty-five candles. I went onto my tiptoes to see if The Pink Parrot’s contribution was visible yet. Dolly had said that he and his fellow stars would mosey by around 7:30. And by “mosey,” I assumed he meant sit gracefully as fireworks boomed above his head. The Pink Parrot was the premier drag club in the city, and the owner, Lacy “Big Mamma” Burstyn, wouldn’t let Dolly’s size 9 platform heels touch the pavement, of that much, I was sure.

Author Bio

Erica Wright’s latest book is The Granite Moth (Pegasus). Her debut crime novel The Red Chameleon (Pegasus) was one of O, The Oprah Magazine‘s Best Books of Summer 2014 and was called “riveting” by Publishers Weekly. She is also the author of poetry collections Instructions for Killing the Jackal (Black Lawrence Press) and All the Bayou Stories End with Drowned (forthcoming, Black Lawrence Press). She is the poetry editor and a senior editor at Guernica Magazine.

Charity Jones is a 16-year-old engineering genius who’s much-bullied for being biracial and a skeptic at her conservative school in Oak County, California. Everything changes when Charity’s social worker mother brings home a sweet teen runaway named Aidan to foster for the holidays. Matched in every way, Charity and Aidan quickly fall in love. But it seems he’s not the only new arrival: Charity soon finds the brutally slain corpse of her worst bully and she gets hard, haunting evidence that the killer is stalking Oak County. As she and her Skeptics Club investigate this death and others, they find at every turn the mystery only grows darker and more deadly. One thing’s for certain: there’s a bloody battle coming this holiday season that will change their lives – and human history – forever.

I can hear Mom and Dad chatting in the living room, asking questions. Another softer voice with a strange accent gives staccato answers.

“Charity?” Mom calls out. She sounds annoyed.

I shuffle through the foyer, inhaling the smell of baking lasagna. When I enter the family room, Mom and Dad are sitting on the couch with mugs, tea bag tags draped over the edges. Some guy I don’t know sits with them in the easy chair. I can’t help checking him out. He’s my age, average height, with skin pale as cream and wavy ebony hair. His light blue eyes shimmer under long, inky lashes. His wrinkled, striped dress shirt is much too big for his narrow shoulders, and his scuffed black boots with pointed toes peek out from the cuffs of his baggy jeans. He gives off a weird vibe, like he’s been in prison or working for suicide bombers.

He must be a stray.

My mom’s a social worker. She’s always bringing home people for meals. Damaged people.

Mom wraps an arm around my shoulders, kissing my ear. “Where have you been? Did you get my message?”

I shake my head.

“Hey. How’d it go?” Dad hugs me as well. I kiss his big scruffy face.

They are being very nice. Something’s up.

“Not great. I’ll tell you later.” I stare at our visitor.

“Charity, this is Aidan MacNichol. Aidan, this is my daughter, Charity.”

“How do you do?” He holds out his hand. His eyes barely meet mine. His voice is a notch higher than I expect and kind of sing-song. What century is this guy from? Who says stuff like that?

“Hi,” I say and give him The Boneless Hand. I’m touching you but I’m not happy about it.

Except I am. His skin is incredibly soft, like my mom’s charmeuse dress. He

lets go. At the last second, I almost don’t.

And he almost doesn’t, either.

“Where’s your brother?” Dad asks.

“I don’t know. In jail?”

“Charity, stop it,” Mom sighs.

“What? I never know where he is.”

A car roars into the gravel driveway. It must be Charles’ ride. The music escaping the car windows sounds like someone is grinding the air into steel shavings. As the car retreats, Charles bursts through the front door and makes for the staircase.

“Hey! Charles, come here.” Dad motions to him.

Charles looks as if he’d rather snack on rat poison than join us, but he does.

“Hey.” Charles lifts his chin at Aidan. Aidan nods back.

“We want to talk to you guys.” Mom puts her hand on Aidan’s shoulder.

“Aidan is going to be staying with us for a little while.”

“This is bullshit,” Charles announces and heads for the staircase. He looks

at Aidan. “No offense.”

“Hey, get back here!” Dad yells.

“No family meeting? You just drop this on us?” I ask.

Mom looks mortally offended. “Charity!”

“It’s not fair. We never get a say in anything that happens around here. Not about Aunt Bulimia—”

“We have guests from my work all the time,” Mom says, “and you’ve never cared before.”

“Yeah, for dinner.”

Aidan slinks back, hands in his pants pockets. He watches the sky through the sliding glass door on the far wall of the living room. He’s humming a familiar tune under his breath. I can’t quite place it.

“You’re not going anywhere, Aidan.” Mom invokes The Voice. It’s from her days as a trial lawyer. “If you leave, I have to call the authorities. You’re underage, your legal residency is in question, and the county has put you in our care. You can stay with us or you can go to juvy.” Mom darkened. “I don’t recommend juvy.”

“Neither does Charles,” I say.

“Shut up, Cherry!”

Aidan sighs. “I don’t know what this ‘juvy’ is but I suppose I don’t want to go.”

“Are you from like England or something?” Charles asks.

Aidan looks confused. “I beg your pardon?”

“Where is he sleeping?” I ask.

“Your room,” Dad says.

My face heats with horror. I bury it in my hands.

“Kidding!” Dad says, throwing an arm around me for a bear squeeze.

“Sewing room. Now let’s have some chow.”

Mom shuttles us to the dining table. She interrogates Charles as to why he stinks like cigarette smoke, but he claims it’s from riding with his friend Noah. I say nothing. As we set the table, she brings out the salad and lasagna, which smells heavenly.

I notice that Aidan holds the fork like he’s strangling it. He scrapes the plate. Everyone winces. Where is this guy from? And why is he so strange? Who doesn’t know how to use a fork?

I want to flee to my room to cry but I can’t. I want to make up with Keiko. I feel terrible about that fight. But Mom has laid down the law: No running off before the meal is over. Supposedly this encourages Charles to stay put and bond with us. If I ran upstairs and flung myself onto the bed now, I’d be doubly busted because we have a guest. I just want to be alone and this weird stranger is keeping me from my snug room where I can just melt down.

“Are you all right?” Aidan looks at me, concerned. “Don’t worry. It wasn’t

“Of course not,” Charles says, indignant. Dad eyes him suspiciously, but lets it drop. There is no justice.

Mom wearily passes Dad the wine bottle. “Charity, what happened?”

“Nothing. I put up a flyer about the Skeptic’s Club and the BFJs picketed my meeting, calling me a lot of unspeakable names. They harassed everyone who was there. They were harassing me with texts calling me a Satanist even before the club meeting. I had to turn off my phone. That’s why I didn’t get your call.” Tears scald the corners of my eyes.

“Where were the school officials?” Mom asks. “I can’t believe they let this happen!”

Aidan sits with his hands folded in his lap, eyes trailing to the window.

Mom narrows her eyes at Dad and polishes off her glass of wine.

And then there’s Keiko… I can’t take it anymore. I manage to stand up and choke out, “Excuse me,” before dashing for my room.

I hear Charles complaining behind me. “So Cherry gets to have a tampon tizzy and get out of dishes?”

I slam the door and the tears spill out. As I fall on the bed, I look to Mr. Spotty and Miss Yoyodyne, who squat beside my desk. These aren’t stuffed animals. They’re robots I built. I feel like kicking one of my plastic component bins but I hurt so much, I just double over on the bed.

Footsteps pound up the stairs and Mom taps on my door. I know her knock.

“Come in.”

Mom sits on the bed and hugs me. Between sobs, I tell her what happened with Keiko.

“Honey, these people are serious bullies. Do you want me and Dad to talk to the principal?”

“No. That’ll only make it worse. Besides, the school says they’ll deal with it. Can we wait and see what happens?”

She looks unconvinced, wiping hair out of my eyes. “If they lay a hand on you…”

“…I have a good lawyer.”

After Mom leaves, I text Keiko.

I’m so sorry, K. Please don’t be mad. I won’t put up any more flyers. I promise! Xoxo

As I read One Hundred Years of Solitude for AP English, I can hear thebumps and scrapes of Dad and Charles setting up the cot in the sewing room. Despite his protests, Charles enjoys showing off that he can lift more than Dad, who had back surgery several months ago. Mom digs through the sewing room closet. “We’ll get you more clothes this weekend,” I hear her tell Aidan. They wish each other a good night.

After two long hours of AP Calculus followed by Honors Chemistry and French, I eventually crawl into bed, exhausted and wishing that I believed in something—anything—that I could pray to and make things okay with Keiko.

Everything falls quiet except for Aidan. I hear him humming. The wall is thin between us.

I remember hearing Mom crying in the sewing room after we first moved here. She and Dad weren’t getting along. I hate thinking of my mom being weak. She has to be strong, the badass lawyer who torches anything in her way with her words. I love her for that. To hear her sobbing was haunting.

Aidan keeps humming. It’s that same tune as before but this time I know what it is.

Carol of the Bells.

A Christmas song.

Playlist!!

Playlist for Snowed

By Maria Alexander

I’m a voracious music addict and a recovering Goth. So, I listen to pretty much anything electronic, dark and powerful, as well as plenty of popular music, like Cage the Elephant and Fall Out Boy. My varied tastes also lead me to really cool, lesser-known musicians like Chase Holfelder and Rico.

Snowed is my debut YA novel. It’s about Charity Jones, a teen skeptic who learns she should not only believe in certain Christmas myths, but she should be afraid of them. As I was writing the book, I listened to all of these songs, plus a couple of movie soundtracks. Each song in the playlist represents a section of the book. Don’t worry — you won’t be able to guess the twists and turns of the plot from them. I’ve included links to the official music videos where possible.

Charity Jones is a 16-year-old engineering genius who’s much-bullied for being biracial and a skeptic at her conservative school in Oak County, California. Everything changes when Charity’s social worker mother brings home a sweet teen runaway named Aidan to foster for the holidays. Matched in every way, Charity and Aidan quickly fall in love. But it seems he’s not the only new arrival: Charity soon finds the brutally slain corpse of her worst bully and she gets hard, haunting evidence that the killer is stalking Oak County. As she and her Skeptics Club investigate this death and others, they find at every turn the mystery only grows darker and more deadly. One thing’s for certain: there’s a bloody battle coming this holiday season that will change their lives — and human history — forever.

Will they be ready?

Author Bio:

Maria Alexander is a produced screenwriter, published games writer, virtual world designer, award-winning copywriter, interactive theatre designer, fiction writer, snarkiologist and poet. Her short stories have appeared in numerous publications and acclaimed anthologies alongside living legends such as David Morrell and Heather Graham.

Her debut novel, Mr. Wicker, won the 2014 Bram Stoker Award for Superior Achievement in a First Novel. She’s represented by Alex Slater at Trident Media Group.

When she’s not wielding a katana at her Shinkendo dojo, she’s being outrageously spooky or writing Doctor Who filk. She lives in Los Angeles with two ungrateful cats and a purse called Trog.

Recent widow, Jane Marsh, is determined to recapture a rich, full life. She strives for youthful fun by riding a bicycle downtown on her lunch hour in a suit and heels, smoking cigars, eating at hipster restaurants, and re-entering the dating scene, even if her dates prove to be peculiar.

Her most fervent desire, though, is to join an exclusive dinner club. She auditions, but is barred when her housekeeper is found murdered, and she and her guest list become the suspect list. Her, a killer? So what if her two late husbands died under suspicious circumstances. It doesn’t make her a killer.

Having passed off a store bought Bundt cake as her own creation, she may have committed a culinary crime, but never murder!

She grumbled during the drive home from the bakery. What kind of a housekeeper would show up late on the first day on the job? What if Monica was still there when the guests arrived? She had Cheryl’s vote of approval, but the other club members may not accept Jane if the dinner did not go smoothly. Well, a delicious Bundt cake would help—or was that cheating? Would the group reject her if they found out she hadn’t made the entire dinner from scratch? Once home, she threw open the door and walked inside. “Monica? You here?” Where was she?

Author Bio:

Karen C. Whalen is the author of a culinary cozy series, the dinner club murder mysteries, the first of which is Everything Bundt the Truth. She works as a paralegal at a law firm in Denver, Colorado and has been a columnist and regular contributor to The National Paralegal Reporter magazine. She has hosted dinner club events for a number of years.

About the Book

Reality TV meets Superhero High School in this intriguing story about friendship, fame, and what it means to be a hero.

In Icon City superheroes save the day every day on the quarter hour. Lead by Captain Fantastic, scores of super celebrities do their best to train the next generation; seventeen year old Friday Fitzsimmons and Jake her childhood friend, are their latest starstruck recruits. When Doctor Dangerous returns from the dead and the Figure in Flames decimates the city, Captain Fantastic is betrayed by one of his own.

Torn between Jake, Ashley and her feelings for Doctor Dangerous, Friday must decide if her childhood friend is worth fighting for, and if the world’s most famous super-villain is worth saving, all while learning how to be a hero.

Author Bio

Mina Chara likes superheroes, chinese food and spending time with her dog. She dislikes dark, gritty superhero movies and tales of the dystopian future. Generally optimistic she writes stories that reflect her love of color (especially blue) as well as her sense of humor.

Born in London Mina enjoyed story telling as a child, but was diagnosed as severely dyslexic aged eight. Advised to stick to art and forget writing, Mina decided to do both and her paintings have so far been featured in two exhibitions. She still struggles with her dyslexia and finds writing a challenge, but refuses to be limited. Hero High: Figure in the Flames is the third book she has written, but the first to be published. Mina is currently studying for a bachelor’s degree in creative writing.

Abandoned at birth, Sophie Shields grew up in abusive foster homes, escaping into books and computers for solace. When the constant danger became too much to bear, she ran away, thinking she could survive on her hacking skills alone.

That was until she met Cole Hunter. He became the only person she could trust: her family, her friend, her partner-in-crime. Her everything. After struggling through college and starting their lives together, she believed that nothing could ever tear them apart.

Until it did.

And she’ll do everything in her power to fix what is broken. If it isn’t too late…

———

When Cole was nine years old, he watched his whole family burn to death in a house fire. Fueled by years of obsession, he started one of the world’s leading architectural firms, with a mission to design homes resistant to fire, earthquakes, floods, and every threat known to man.

Sophie was his secret weapon. She was his purpose. Since they were teenagers, he was determined to build a better life for her, so she could finally be safe, and they could be together.

But disaster has always followed Cole around, ripping away everything he loves. This time, if he isn’t careful…

Loretta Lost is a USA Today bestselling author who writes stories where very bad things happen to good people. Mystery, tragedy, and danger complicate her unique romances between characters who will do anything to protect each other.

In the two days of summer that she gets in Canada, she grows a garden of the hottest peppers in the world. She loves using these peppers to torture her guests and challenge their manhood. This could be why she isn’t married.

One night I was out with my girls enjoying a much needed ladies night while wondering if one more dirty martini would push me over the edge. The next thing I knew, I was in the club’s bathroom listening to a woman screaming, “No,” and a man’s voice growling, “I know you want it.”

That asshole picked the wrong restroom, in the wrong club, at the wrong time.

Little did I know the asshole was Cade’s VP, and although we saved that woman from his clutches that night, she’d be found floating in a motel pool a month later.

Running a PI firm is a lot harder than taking pictures for one, especially when your professional life spills over into your personal one. I’m going through cupcakes like our new puppy goes through piddle pads, and if I’m not careful there’s bound to be a Cupcake Overload.

My Review:

4/5 Stars!

I love a good romantic comedy and you get just that with Cupcake Overload!

This is book two in the Cupcakes series. We find Lila, Cade, the twins and Lila’s band of quirky friends are back and better than ever. Lila and Cade have grown in their relationship, but there’s always room for more. These two are sweet and sexy with flashes of hilarity. There is an mystery, nothing too deep, but still enough for some crazy antics and suspense. Cade is as swoonworthy as ever and I love the way Lila handles him.

This sweet, sexy and run romance is sure to make you swoon and smile and I dare you not to crave cupcakes when you’re done!

Award-Winning Author Bethany Lopez began self-publishing in June 2011. She’s a lover of all things romance: books, movies, music, and life, and she incorporates that into the books she writes. When she isn’t reading or writing, she loves spending time with her husband and children, traveling whenever possible. Some of her favorite things are: Kristen Ashley Books, coffee in the morning, and In N Out burgers.
Bethany Lopez is represented by Marisa Corvisiero of Corvisiero Literary Agency.